The Subtext for Emotions
by Peppermione
Summary: Molly is quite heartbroken after the end of her engagement with Tom. When Mary makes a proposition for a Molly to indulge in one of her secret hobbies to wear it off, she readily accepts. Everything goes perfectly well, until a consulting detective finds out... Takes place after HLV. (Doesn't future Moriarty right away). Rewrite of "Everything Ends" Rated for language.


**Hello, Sherlockians!**

**I'm back after a long time of no writing!**

**This is a rewrite of a story a published a long time ago, by the name of Everything Ends. For those of you who have read it, it has a lot of new stuff, although it still follows the same idea and some of the old scenes are here as well. This one is set after HLV, so if you haven't still seen it, get out!**

**To knew people, welcome! : )**

**And now to the story! Enjoy!**

**PS: Please R&R! It really makes my day!**

* * *

**Chapter 1: Mary Watson's Idea**

Mary woke up startled by the ringing of her phone. She stopped for a second, listening to the tune it emitted, recognizing it immediately as the one she had chosen for Molly Hooper. _What the hell...? _Mary thought. Molly Hooper didn't call at night. Specially not this late at night. Unless it was important. Worry rapidly made its way into her heart. Mary promptly picked up the ringing device and answered it, sleep no longer clear in her voice.

"Molly?"

Sobbing noises met her on the other end of the line before she heard the voice of the pathologist. "Mary? I-I'm so s-sorry... I didn't know who else to call..."

Mary jerked off the bed, totally alert now, and waking up John in the process. The man in question groggily turned around to face his wife, frowning when he saw her on the phone, and not awake because of the usual nightmare, which was the usual occurrence between them at night.

"Molly? Are you okay? Are you safe?!" Mary asked, the edge of worry on her voice very plain.

John's frown deepened, the sleep slowly wearing off, yet still there to make his mind slower than usual. "Is that Molly?" he asked, only to be promptly hushed by his wife.

Mary listened intently as Molly's sobs continued to fill the line as the crying woman tried to calm down enough to get her words out. "I'm a-alright. Well, I'm n-not fine... I-I mean... I haven't been kid-kidnapped..." Mary breathed out the air she intentionally had held as relief flashed through her, only to then be replaced by confusion.

"Wait, then why are you crying? What's going on, Molly?"

Molly took a deep breath and another sob wracked through her. John had sat up with Mary, now more or less aware of what was going on. "It's j-just... I feel so alone... s-since Tom l-left... I haven't s-slept in two d-days... I j-just need someone... I d-didn't know who else to call... I'm s-sorry..." More sobs followed after that, cutting the pathologist off.

"Oh, no, Molly, it's alright... Don't worry. Just, hold on a sec, sweetie." the blonde woman replied as she turned towards her husband.

"What's going on?" John whispered to his wife as he soothingly rubbed her back.

"I think she's depressed because Tom left her..." She looked down at her phone. 2:30 AM. She sighed. "John, I know it's late..."

"Actually, I think it's early..."

"Hush! Don't sass me now, John Watson. Let me finish!" Mary replied with a fond smile before looking back to her phone. " I know it's late, but-"

"Just go. God knows how many times I've had to get up because of Sherlock and you've just smiles and let me go. And that's just for silly crime solving. Molly is our friend. Go." the doctor calmly whispered to his wife as he gently touched his forehead to hers.

Mary sighed. "Okay..." She swiftly turned to her phone. "Molls...? Hey, I'm coming over. With extra tissues... And ice cream! Just hold on tight, girl!"

* * *

Mary jumped around on one foot as she tried to hastily get into the first jeans she had found lying around, and failed to get her balance, falling face down from the closet into the bedroom. _For an assassin, sometimes you are rather ungraceful, Morstan!_

"Mary?" John called from the bed, with an amused tint to his tone "You alright there?"

"Totally!" She hollered as she jumped off the floor and finally got her leg into the trousers. "Ok, I have my phone with me. You can text me if you need anything, or something happens..."

"I'll be fine, Mary!" John replied with a laugh as she bend down to kiss him at the same time she was stepping into her shoes. She swiftly put on her grey coat and checked her pockets for everything, and took the plastic bag that contained the last four boxes of tissues she had found and the newly bought ice cream that had been in her fridge. She ran out of the room, John watching her with a fond smile. Three seconds later she returned, a serious warning look on her face as she pointed her finger at him.

"You." She said a little breathlessly. "Not a. _Single_. word. to Sherlock Holmes."

"Got it. Promise"

"Okay." She stood there looking at him.

"Mary."

"Oh! Right! Molly. Okay, yes, bye! Love you!"

* * *

The drive to Molly's flat was swift, yet not swift enough for Mary, who was worried sick about her friend. Her best friend. As she hurriedly made her way to the door, she checked her phone once more, making sure she had no messages from Sherlock indicating her husband had accidentally slipped on his promise. No messages. _Either Sherlock hasn't seen him yet or John is actually not slipping... Most likely the first._

She rang to doorbell and waited, her heart thumping loudly as she heard shuffling from the other side, followed by the unlocking of the door. A very disheveled Molly met her eyes. Tear streaks marked her flushed cheeks, and more seemed to be forming in her brown doe eyes, which held a sadness that almost paralleled the one she had seen in John's eyes when she had first met him. Her heart utterly broke at the sight of her friend.

"Oh, Molly!" She exclaimed as she embraced her. The pathologist quietly broke down in her arms, trembling with more sobs and wetting Mary's coat with her tears. They stayed that way for a few minutes before Mary finally minded her surroundings. "C'mon, Molly. Lets close the door. We don't want to catch a cold..."

* * *

A shower, a box of tissues, and two bowls of ice cream later, Mary and Molly sat on her couch, both still eating their vanilla ice cream. Molly had finally stopped crying, and sat now quiet, her breathing still a bit uneven. Mary, however, sat licking her spoon with wild abandon, racking her brain for a way to cheer up her friend. Ice cream, specially vanilla (her favorite), had always helped her to think clearer. _Like Sherlock and nicotine_. _Although not as addictive_... Mary mused as she finished her bowl, and looked longingly at the rest that sat on the coffee table. _On the other hand..._ She reached for more...

...Only to have her brain light bulb go off as she had an idea.

"Molly! I've just had a thought!" She exclaimed as she enthusiastically jumped off the sofa to her friend. Molly looked up in confusion at her friend's energy, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. Her eyes widened two beats later.

"No. Mary, I know that look..."

The blonde assassin pointed at her with her spoon. "You don't even know what I was going to say!"

"And I don't want to!"

"Do!"

"Don't"

"Do!"

They stared at each other for a few seconds before Molly gave in with a sigh. "Fine. Do tell..."

Mary grinned before kneeling before her friend so they could be face to face. "I know you're feeling rather badly at the moment. And that means, you need a distraction." She held out her hand to stop Molly from interrupting her. "No, Molls, work is not going to cover it. And I'm not saying your work isn't wonderfully entertaining. Just that a certain detective strolling around there isn't the best therapy to clear one's head and relax. So, how about singing?"

"Singing?"

"Yeah!" Mary exclaimed as she sat back down. "You are a brilliant singer! And music does help to get it all out. I sing around the flat all the time!"

The brown-haired woman looked at her with a mix of surprise and amusement. "You do?"

"Sure thing! You can even consider rap my thing!... Don't tell John, though." Mary winked at her as Molly finally smiled.

"Okay... So you want me to sing around the flat? I already do that."

Mary shook her head. "No, no. I was thinking outside. In a pub or something..."

"Ah." the pathologist replied as she set down her bowl. "And this is the part where I definitely say no."

"What?! But you love singing!"

"Not in front of a bloody audience!"

Mary stared at her with a pointed look. "You don't have stage fright."

Molly sighed. "Fine. I don't. I just... I haven't preformed before people since the end of Uni!"

"So what? I've heard you sing, and you are utterly amazing. I don't really think you can get rusty if it's raw talent, Molly."

The pathologist in question debated it over in her head for a few moments "Alright... You do have a point there. But Mary, I don't know of any pub that uses live music around here..."

Mary smiled at her friend. "See, that's where I come in..."

* * *

As it turned out, Mary had a friend who owned a pub which used live music. More live than not, actually. Its name was The Fox. The owner, Bonnie Faulkner, was a lovely Scottish woman in her late twenties. She had almost jumped at Molly after hearing her sing, begging her to sing at her club. And for Molly's part, it wasn't as much of a circus to get her schedule cleared to be able to sing on Friday and Saturday nights. She exchanged her night shift on Friday with one of her colleges, who didn't seem to mind the trading since he was trying to avoid his wife. And she just needed to even breathe a word to Mike about giving her Saturday afternoon off and before he wholeheartedly agreed, giving her a rather long talk on how she worked too hard and deserved it.

And so weeks went by. Sherlock seemed to be avoiding her since the slapping and getting shot incident, although he had come by twice, seemingly with no other choice and always followed by John. Neither seemed to notice anything amiss. Which was normal for John, but not for Sherlock. Molly, however, attributed it to the fact that he spend most of his time in the lab looking away from her as much as possible and hardly speaking to her. And that was fine with her. She needed the peace, and she really didn't want him finding out about her singing and criticizing. If that happened, she was afraid it was going to come to much more than just a few slaps.

So here she was, tiresomely filling out horribly long paper work after one of today's autopsies, rather lost in thought.

_Cause of death... Heart attack..._ her working brain said as she continued to write.

_...Of not being able to find a nice dress for tomorrow night... _replied the childish, and honestly, bored part of herself.

She kept on musing to herself as she got up from the stool and moved to the door of the morgue, set on getting herself a warm cup of coffee...

BAM!

The door suddenly swung open, hitting Molly squarely on her nose, making her loose her balance and fall but first to the floor.

"Ah, Molly, just who I wanted to see!" said Sherlock as he completely barged into the room, seemingly oblivious to Molly's place on the floor or her now bleeding nose. Only when he realized that Molly wasn't behind him did he turn around to face the back of the pathologist, a confused look on his face. "Molly? What are you doing on the floor? I thought the cleaners came in here very night?"

Trying to stop the bleeding of her nose and at the same time trying to hide it, she stood up quickly from the floor. This only caused her head to start to spin, and for her to stumble. Molly started to see the ground coming in closer, and she closed her eyes, waiting for the impact. An impact that never came. Instead, she found herself being held by Sherlock's arms. She looked up into his ever-changing eyes, which now seemed to be a stormy grey laced with worry.

"What happened to your nose?" he exclaimed as he almost carried a stumbling Molly to sit on the stool she was intended on leaving mere moments ago.

Molly let out a small whimper as she sat on the stool. "You hit me with the door, Sherlock, that's what bloody well happened." her voice sounded nasal, which didn't help her feel any less weak or silly at this moment. Specially in front of Sherlock.

"Oh." was the only thing the detective said as he realized what had happened.

"It's fine... Just adding a few extra points to the day..."

Sherlock spoke to her as he examined her nose, his hands gently tilting her head so he could look at it from all angles. "Hm... This doesn't look that bad. Just bloody." He stood up and walked to her office, to return with the first aid kit she kept under her desk. She knew he knew where it was. How many times had she had to use it with him before he had met John. Or after that. He took out one of the gauze swabs and started to clean up the fresh blood before turning to the sing and dampening another one to clean up the rest. They stood there in a comfortable silence for a while, Sherlock cleaning her blood off, Molly standing still, before he broke it. "I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I said I'm sorry. For... hitting you with the door. It wasn't my intention." he repeated as he finished cleaning and moved around to dispose of the gauzes.

Molly shrugged. "I know. It's fine. I wasn't looking either." She hopped off the stool, her head no longer spinning in slow circles, and tried to breathe through her nose a couple of times. "So. Why are you here?"

"Oh! Yes, I just came to run a blood analysis on some evidence. Just to solidify the case, all that." he said as he flashed the pathologist a small smile.

She nodded with a smile as washed the little blood on her hands in the sink. "Do you need help or something?"

"Not really, no. I was just hoping you would join me. You could finish that paperwork and I would have someone to just... converse with?"

Molly shot him a confused look but said yes nonetheless, gathering her pen and clipboard before following him into the lab.

* * *

They had worked between bouts of comfortable, friendly silence, and quiet conversation for a while before he had brought up what she hat let on before.

"Molly, why is your day going so badly?"

She had looked up from her paperwork to find him still focused on his microscope slide, yet she knew he had asked her. Her imagination, no matter how good it was, couldn't conjure such a good replica of his baritone voice.

"Um, well... Does someone need a specific reason?" she had ended up saying with a dismissive smile, holding unto the small amount of hope that told her he might let it slide...

... but he was Sherlock Holmes, and he didn't let things slide.

"Well, with you, yes." he turned on his stool to fully face her. "So? What's the dilemma?"

She nervously looked back down at her paperwork, not trusting herself to lie to him while looking into his eyes.

"It's nothing."

He stood up with a chuckle, walking to the other side of the lab to get more supplies. He didn't speak until he was seated before the microscope again. "I must say, Dr. Hooper, you were never a good liar, but you are improving." he set up his new slide before turning to her again. "Molly. I know I am not of much help to you most of the time... But if I can help you, I will. And that's a promise."

Molly looked at him, her mouth open in surprise at his thoughtful words. She knew he was able to speak them, they just caught her off guard. Always.

"I... Thank you. I appreciate the thought... But I don't think you can buy what I need, Sherlock..." Molly replied, a bit of shock still plain in the hesitation of her words.

"Why ever not? Is it drugs?" real doubt was set in his words which had Molly gaping at him like a fish out of the water.

"NO! No, never! I just... I need a dress for.. for something tomorrow and I can't afford one. Is all."

Molly stood up from her chair and walked out of the room, leaving a pensive Sherlock in her wake.

* * *

Before the fall, Sherlock hadn't really seen Molly Hooper. But then she had saved him, and helped him. And he had spent 2 weeks with her, cooped up in her flat. And he had started to know her better. And he had to admit that when he was away in god-knows-what-place, he had missed her company a lot. And when he came back, he had found that he really enjoyed being around her. The Tom fiasco was horrible. Everyone admitted to that. But he liked being with her. And that was proven the day he had spent solving crimes with her. They worked well. Then again, they always had.

He liked to think if it as them dancing around each other. They would be in perfect synchronization. Never bumping into each other, always following each others thoughts... And now that her stammer was gone, he found that he rather liked their conversations. He had always known she was intelligent. After all, she was the only pathologist he would work with. All the others were incompetent buffoons in his mind. But she was also witty and rather charming with her strange and awkward humor.

And now, well, now he just felt that he should help her. Set the record straight. Although just buying a dress wouldn't even come close to repaying the debt. So as he left the morgue that night, he pulled out his phone, a plan already set in his mind.

"Brother dear, how are you tonight?..."

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**So? Watcha think? Please let me know through your comments!**

**I'm working on trying to figure out an exact schedule of updates, but it'll be probably each Sunday.**

**Thank you!**

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**Peppermione**


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